Love and Duty
by PrincessDaydream77
Summary: Even as the younger son of King George V, Albert Windsor was expected to marry well, so that the line of the royal family would continue. However, when his eye was not caught by a foreign princess, but rather by the youngest daughter of an earl, could Bertie balance love and duty in pursuit of Lady Elizabeth? Dedicated to daydreaming87.
1. Worries for the Future

Love and Duty

Summary: Even as the younger son of King George V, Albert Windsor was expected to marry well, so that the line of the royal family would continue. However, when his eye was not caught by a foreign princess, but rather by the youngest daughter of an earl, could Bertie balance love and duty in pursuit of Lady Elizabeth? Dedicated to daydreaming87.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its rightful owners, including the story to me and its title to daydreaming87.

Chapter One

The time had come at last, the time when Albert, second son of King George V, must select for himself a wife, so as to further the alliances both within the United Kingdom, and with countries abroad. With the Great War scarcely ended, and partnerships once again open for negotiation, the man had more choices than he could believe. And yet, despite the plethora of beautiful, well titled women suggested to him, and his opportunity to choose any one of them he wished, he could not bring himself to believe that even one of them was the one he should call his wife.

Of course, since he had been a very young man, the prince had been taught that marriage was for the advancement of their country, and that only foolish nobles would marry for love alone. His own parents had had their marriage arranged between their fathers, and though they seemed to be happy, their relationship missed the spark of passion that he had heard of in instances of true love. That was what he wanted, whether or not he would ever get it.

However, when he had broached this subject with his father, he had been shot down in flames, told that his wife's purpose would be to provide him with a partner and an heir, with other children to follow if desired. With all the advancements of the world that had come in the last few decades, Albert could still scarcely believe that the archaic practice of arranged marriages still remained. But there was nothing to be done, and the choice would need to be made, sooner rather than later.

A ball had been arranged for that evening at the Palace, and the man was well aware that this was merely a ploy of his mother's to try and speed up his decision. He had discovered a list of women's names abandoned on the breakfast table, which had fed his notion that the ball was a matchmaking affair. He doubted that this had been accidental, as one of the servants would have cleared it away in a heartbeat, if she had not expressly desired it to be left for him to find.

Sighing deeply, Albert scanned the list, noticing the changes in his mother's handwriting, some subtle and some not so. Queen Mary had clearly taken a great deal of time with each letter of some young women's titles, her hand swirling gently over them, foreign princesses and first daughters of the richest and most important lords in the country. However, there were others that had merely been scribbled down on the page, as if they were merely an afterthought, second, third and even fourth daughters of men who were of hardly any consequence to the British Isles, women who had only been invited for the sake of appearances.

Albert glanced down the list once again the moment he had reached the bottom of it, trying to find a name that would spark his interest, or even better, his affection. But there was nothing special there, it seemed, just a list of titles and names forming endless combinations before his eyes. None of them seemed significant enough to him, none of them seemed suitable, none of them seemed... right.

Still, he supposed there was nothing to be done. He would have to attend the ball; it would be unseemly not to. And after it was done, he could simply tell his father none of them had been to his liking, and they could go back to the drawing board. It was not a permanent solution, and he was near certain that his father would resent him for it, but at least it would give him some more time to find a woman for himself.

As the prince prepared for the evening, he wondered to himself what it would be like to be married, to have someone to rely on him, to stand by him through thick and thin, to be there with him, always at his side. Whomever he selected to be his wife would also be the mother of his children. She would need to be loving, a woman who really cared about her offspring and their welfare. Albert sighed. '_I'll never find anyone to live up to my expectations, if I have this detailed a criteria for a perfect wife.'_

'_Perhaps I will find someone good enough.'_ he thought, realising that a little positivity in the face of this challenge might be the way to move forward. '_There will not be anyone as perfect as I had wished for, but I doubt there is a woman in the world who would be a match for that expectation. Still, I suppose I should give them a chance. It's more than likely, after all, that these women will be as nervous as I am. And I can hardly pull out of the race before I've reached the first fence to jump.'_

Satisfied that his attitude was far more acceptable, Albert put on his brave face as he dressed. He winced slightly at the clothes he had been forced to wear, hating the pretentious nature of the ornate garments, more of his mother's work, he did not doubt. He glanced up at the clock, to see that it would soon chime seven. In just half an hour, the grand ballroom would be filled with women, one of whom could become his future wife. He scoffed slightly at the thought. '_I doubt that very much; not if I have anything to do with it.'_

Little did he know, the woman he would marry, the woman he would come to fall in love with, was stepping across the threshold at that very moment.

A/N: I know that I have been promising to do this story for so long, but with the amount of exams I've had, I simply haven't had time to finish the first chapter. The updates might be a bit few and far between, but I'll try to put up new chapters as often as I can. Extra thanks to daydreaming87 for continuing to keep me motivated to get on with doing this story, and please review!


	2. The Perfect Woman

Chapter Two

A/N: Thank you to hannah, daydreaming87, HorcruxCupcake, amandacrey96, FancyFreeThinker101, gretchonbad and Helenesse for reviewing the first chapter. I really appreciate it!

The grand ballroom rang out with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses, all merging together to create a deafening noise in Prince Albert's ear. He was not enjoying the evening in the least; the lords and ladies were most tedious, his parents were completely overbearing and the women, in general, were exactly the same; pretty, simpering and uninteresting, almost the complete opposite of what he had wished for in a wife.

Finally, the noise became almost unbearable, and so he moved out onto one of the many balconies that littered the castle, hoping for some time alone, to remember that he was a man in himself, and not just a bargaining chip to form an alliance with another important family, as he had begun to feel as he was introduced to lady after lady in the ballroom, none of whom had taken his fancy at all.

'_I suppose I'll never find any woman that meets my standards.'_ he mused, taking a sip from the champagne flute he carried with him. He had been drinking a fair bit of alcohol that evening, not enough to be noticeable, but just enough to give him a pleasant, light headed feeling, which had been one of the only things giving him the ability to get through the tedious night.

Of course, he knew that he would have to marry. There was no questioning that fact. He was a royal prince, he was expected to find a good wife and have children, to continue the royal line, should his brother not produce any. '_Mind, with David's love of women, they need only worry about his children being legitimate.'_ he thought bitterly. He did not know whether it was the truth or not, but his brother's action of flirting with every female in the ballroom had frustrated him immensely, another reason he had wanted to escape the party.

A chill wind swept across the balcony, sending a heady shiver down Bertie's spine. Spying a set of steps leading down into the gardens, the young man quickly moved to descend them, hoping that the temperature would increase a little at a lower altitude. Of course, the gardens were far less private than the balconies, but Albert was willing to take the risk of bumping into a few strangers, for the sake of not freezing to the bone. '_Besides, others may have come out here to escape the crowds. Some of them may even be rather decent.'_

He must have walked half a mile through the twists and turns of the gardens before he happened upon another person. It was a young woman, sat alone on one of the cold stone benches that filled the grounds. Her gown was simple and elegant and her hair was tied up in a sophisticated manner, though not as extravagantly as some of the other women in the room. She was staring into the distance, as if wishing she could join the stars dotted around the sky. '_Perhaps I would rather do that as well.'_ Bertie thought to himself as he approached the girl. '_It seems a far simpler life.'_

He was only a few paces away from the woman now, and yet she still had not noticed his approach, too lost in her own little fantasy to realise that she was being watched. As he moved closer, Bertie noticed the finer details about the woman. She was small and slender, with chestnut brown curls the same shade as her eyes, which twinkled in the light of the waxing moon. She did not appear to be from the richest family, as her dress was made of materials which, although they had been arranged beautifully, were clearly less expensive than those of some of the other women in the ballroom, but on her, the dress seemed as beautiful as any array of silk and velvet.

He hardly noticed the woman's gasp, but was brought out of his reverie when she stood abruptly from the bench, smoothing her dress down with her hands and adjusting the numerous pins holding up her hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to st-startle you." Albert began, cursing his tongue for being unable to pronounce the phrase without stammering. '_Whatever must she think of me.'_ she wondered.

"That's alright, Your Highness." she responded, her voice smooth as dripping honey, with all its sweetness. "I was miles away, I'm afraid."

"You- You know who I am?" he questioned the woman, at a loss for anything else to say which would not make him appear a fool. It was a foolish statement in itself, but foolish statements were still a little better than an awkward silence, in his experience.

"It would be difficult not to, Your Highness, given that this ball has been in your honour." she responded, before inclining her head towards the clothes he wore. "Besides, you are not exactly a covert operative in that attire."

Bertie looked down at himself to see the ceremonial sash worn over his dinner jacket, it's design marking him out clearly as a prince of the Crown. Immediately, he felt his cheeks begin to flame and hoped that the darkness would hide this fact. He did not wish to appear any more foolish than he already felt.

"Are you enjoying the party?" he asked, trying to bring the conversation back onto a simpler path.

"It's been quite a celebration," the woman commented in return, although her smile looked a little forced. Bertie knew exactly how she felt; these types of celebrations were no more her cup of tea than they were his, it seemed. "But I feel that I must be heading home soon. It's getting quite late."

Disappointment flooded his heart, and Albert could not quite pinpoint the reason for the sudden emotions, although he did his best to prevent them from reaching his face. She had curtsied slightly to him, before beginning to walk away.

He did not know what had possessed him to behave in such a way, but before he knew it, he had hollered the question across the gardens. "What is your name?"

The young woman turned to face him, the moonlight illuminating her features and making her appear almost like a spirit, like the Lady rising from the Lake, Excalibur in hand. She was incredibly beautiful, he realised suddenly; he did not know how he had not noticed before. Her voice had the sweetness and richness and depth of chocolate, leaving him wanting more, and as she turned, the curls of her chestnut hair shone, glowing just as brightly as the stars above her.

"My name is Elizabeth."

A/N: They've met! Please review!


	3. The Near-Empty Ballroom

Chapter Three

A/N: Thank you to mrseljefino, katiebrown, Guest, HorcruxCupcake and daydreaming87 for reviewing the last chapter.

The ballroom had scarcely been cleared from the previous night's celebrations, but already Queen Mary had begun to prepare for another to take place the next week. Normally, Albert would have objected or tried to interfere, but on this occasion, he remained silent and allowed his mother to do as she wished. After all, the celebration was his best chance of seeing Elizabeth again and that opportunity could not be passed up.

He had taken additional care in preparing himself that night, wanting to ensure he looked his best. Elizabeth was a Lady, after all, if not one of the highest ranking, and he would need to make a considerable effort to prevent another young chap from catching her eye.

He was dressed in a crimson jacket today, a deep shade, rich but not garish, and he wore simply cut dark dress trousers, with his shoes highly polished and his hair tamed flat against his head. It was not an extravagant outfit for such a celebration, and the ladies would certainly be vying for attention from his brother David in place of him, but Albert didn't care for the ladies. Only for one of them, one who would no more be impressed by an intricately embroidered suit than he would be by an elaborate gown.

Albert felt his insides flutter like butterflies, as he thought that tonight he would be able to see Lady Elizabeth once again. He had only met her the once, and only briefly at that, but there was something deep inside his chest that wondered if she could be the one, if she was that perfect wife he had so desperately wanted.

'_She is not perfect.'_ he told himself vaguely, something that he had learnt even after being with her for so brief a time. It was obvious in every move she made that she was different to all the others. Her hair was not twisted and turned into the intricate patterns the other ladies attempted, but pinned up simply, as if she had better things to do than to spend hours sitting in front of a mirror. '_But her imperfections, strangely, are the things that make me think that she truly is perfect.'_

Bertie found himself frowning at his thoughts. He had never thought of any woman the way he thought of Elizabeth. To him, they had always been swarms of titles, jewels and mindless chattering about topics no one cared about. But this young woman was so much more than that. She was the type of woman he had always dreamed of having as his wife.

His thoughts were buzzing around in his mind, like a thousand moths round a candle flame, but before he had a moment to make sense of it all, he heard a gong sound. The prince could barely disguise his sigh at the evident summons, signifying that the ball was about to begin. '_Mother always makes such a grand gesture out of everything.'_

Still, he found himself close to sprinting down the palace steps, tripping over his feet in his haste to reach the ballroom. The hurry caused his legs to ache, a dull pain that was only a taster of the agony he had experienced in his childhood, but he found that he did not care. Elizabeth was the only one who he felt he could speak to, and he was not about to waste any opportunity to have an intelligent conversation.

Bertie searched for half an hour, scanning the ballroom for a glimpse of his friend, but eventually, he had to accept the fact that Elizabeth was not among the guests. He considered retreating back to his bedroom and pretending the next morning that he had come down with a chill, but he could see his brother staring at him from the corner of the room and knew that running away was not an option; after all, if he told his story after David had seen him, nothing would please his brother more than to get him into trouble.

Instead, he circled the room, making small talk with people of importance, the ones that he was expected to speak to, although he did not enjoy their conversations in the least. The only one he wanted to speak to seemed to be the only upper class lady in all of England missing from the ballroom.

"Bertie!" hollered David, across the noise of the musicians. The younger prince sighed at his brother's boisterous behaviour, which had not changed a jot since they had been boys, although he could not contain a chuckle as his mother approached the boy and clipped him round the ear for his rudeness.

Nevertheless, Bertie did approach his brother, deciding that it was most likely better to speak with him than to leave him to concoct more devilish ways of catching his attention.

"Ah, Bertie, there's someone I wanted you to meet." David told him and Bertie had to fight back a sigh of annoyance. His elder brother took great pleasure in trying to set him up with girls, if nothing else, to emphasise the fact that their mother had written him off as too much of a ladies' man to consider at first go. "This is Lady Mary Bowes-Lyon, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Strathmore. A lovely girl from a lovely family, which you must already have found for yourself. I understand you are already acquainted with her younger sister, Elizabeth?"

At that moment, Bertie truly could have kissed his brother. With no surname for the girl he had met in the gardens, he had no way of contacting her, no way of knowing if he was to see her again. But now he knew her surname he could write her a letter, inviting her to come and meet him. Who knows if she would agree or not, but at least she could now make her choice.

Bertie went through the rest of the evening with a beaming smile on his face, anticipating another meeting between himself and Lady Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon. He could hardly contain his excitement and his mind buzzed with so many thoughts that he could hardly hear his mother's end-of-ball speech; the most prominent of all was how well her name would fit with the title of Duchess of York.

A/N: Please review!


	4. Dear Elizabeth

Chapter Four

A/N: Thank you to bellovettrix, daydreaming87, katiebrown, Helenesse and Frog1 for reviewing.

Bertie sighed, throwing away yet another sheet of paper bearing a badly-written letter. He had spent Lord knows how long trying to perfect his first piece of correspondence to the Earl of Strathmore's youngest daughter, but every attempt he made was more idiotic to his eyes, and he imagined would be to Elizabeth's, as well.

He had never in his life met a woman who could make him, an educated well-spoken young man, sound like a stuttering little child, excepting his mother and grandmother, who had held that power over him since childhood. But even they had just made him guilty and fearful; it was only Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon who could truly make him look a fool.

Eventually, a good two hours after he had first put pen to paper, and though it still was not perfected, he had written a letter that he deemed good enough to send. It was informal, a little more informal than his mother would have liked to see, but luckily enough, she would not be reading it.

_Dear Elizabeth,_  
_I hope this letter finds you in good health, as you were sorely missed at the ball held at the Palace last week. Your sister Mary, who did attend, did not speak of any ailment having befallen you, but I hope you are well nonetheless._  
_In a fortnight's time, my mother has planned to host another ball, to celebrate the birthday of my brother, David. He shall, naturally, be inviting a group of his friends to the occasion and it is my wish that you would attend the celebration as well, so that I shall not be left alone with no companion of my own. I do not get on well with my brother's regular companions and I should like to be able to see you again._  
_I hope to hear from you soon,_  
_Albert._

The letter was sent in the post before he had a chance to change his mind about its content, but this did not prevent the man from fretting about it. He spent half an hour after the paper changed hands considering the different ways he could have made his point, wondering whether he should have written more formally or made the request more detailed, but after that, a knock on the door from David requesting his company for a riding session provided a welcome distraction. Or so he would have wished.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this was not to be, for David had always been a perceptive man, at least when it came to embarrassing his younger brother. It took just half an hour at most before the topic of conversation turned to the party and from there, Albert had fallen unwittingly into a trap.

"So, Bertie, who will you be inviting to the party?" David asked, smirking slightly as Albert's horse stumbled a little, seemingly reflecting the shock of its rider. "Come along, you must be bringing someone. It becomes quite depressing, watching you milling around on your own all evening, particularly when Mother spots a suitable woman for you."

"I- I hadn't really th-thought of it." Internally, Albert cursed his treacherous tongue. It seemed to be only when he so needed to sound convincing that his stammer chose to make an appearance. Though he tried to hide it, David was smirking, relishing his brother's embarrassment, just as he always had done.

"Oh, fair enough." David responded, sounding a little disappointed. His ever-present smirk made him a great deal less convincing. "So, you haven't invited the dear Lady Elizabeth to the event?"

Bertie coughed loudly, choking on the morning air itself until his brother rode close enough to clap him on the back. In all honesty, he was grateful for the time to think, as he did not know what answer he could possibly give that would not result in further ridicule from his brother, and eventually decided on the truth.

"As a matter of fact, I- I have." he answered and was not surprised that David's face remained completely unchanged. This was not news to the man at all and both of them knew it.

"Have you taken a shine to her?" David asked, his smirk fading away to leave an expression of pure interest behind in its place, a rarity for a man as comically minded as him. '_He really wants to know.'_ Albert realised, trying to disguise his shock. '_He actually seems to care.'_

"Yes, I- I suppose I have done." The younger man was trying his best to sound nonchalant, as if he had only a passing interest in the Earl of Strathmore's daughter, but this could not be further from the truth. She was so much more than a passing fancy to him- in fact, he wanted her to be so much more than that.

"Is little Bertie really in love? Should we hear the Westminster bells ringing soon?" It was as if David had read his mind, a skill he had been honing ever since they were boys, but Albert managed to school his features into an expression of neutrality, riding further ahead to avoid the conversation that would have continued, had David had his way.

Once he was alone, Albert found himself pondering on his brother's words. He had been joking, of course, a jest to make his brother a little more red in the face, but for Albert, it was an interesting point to consider. Elizabeth was a witty, charming, intelligent woman, but did he really wish to have her as his wife? A smile spread widely across Bertie's face, for he knew that there could only be one answer to that question.

In Albert's mind, the ball for his brother's birthday could not come quickly enough, for then he would see Elizabeth again, and an all important question could be asked. All that remained after that was to see what her answer would be and Bertie could do nothing but pray that she would say yes.

A/N: Please review!


	5. With a Heavy Heart

Chapter Five

A/N: Thank you to bellovettrix, daydreaming87 and Guest for reviewing the last chapter.

A whirl of dresses and dance music passed by in every heartbeat, yet every heartbeat seemed to last a thousand years or more as Bertie awaited Elizabeth's arrival. She had sent her response not a day after the request had reached her and seemed to be excited at the prospect of another ball at the Palace. Although he was unsure, the man could hope that she was equally excited to see him again.

On the rare occasions he pulled his gaze away from the door, Bertie glanced over to find his brother, David, chuckling to himself. '_Oh, how stupid he must think me, surrounding by his flock of hens over there.'_ the younger man thought bitterly. '_But I do not care, not really. I would rather seek Elizabeth's company than any of those empty-headed dolls.'_

David raised his glass and eyebrows in time to propose a silent toast to his brother; Albert often wondered if the man was aware of how patronising his behaviour could be, though he doubted he would change even if he knew. Silently seething, the young prince plastered a smile onto his face, hoping beyond hope that he would not be made to face the crowds alone for much longer.

As if by magic, the liveried man by the door announced the entrance of the Earl of Strathmore, his wife and his children. There were a fair few of the children in attendance, half a dozen, leaving only three absent, but Albert only cared for one, the dark-haired girl laughing with her sister, Mary, at the back of the group.

Albert had to restrain himself from running towards Elizabeth and throwing his arms around her, he felt so much relief at her arrival. Of course, he never would have done something so uncouth, not with so many people around, but the temptation was great nonetheless.

Instead, he moved calmly towards the group. He inclined his head respectfully to the Earl and planted a kiss on his wife's hand, before he made his way towards Elizabeth.

"Good evening, Your Highness." Elizabeth greeted, curtseying respectfully to the man. Bertie had to prevent himself from sighing at the gesture; he wished that Elizabeth would not show such deference towards him. He treated her as a person, not an Earl's daughter, and wished that she could do the same for him. '_But we're different.'_ he reminded himself. '_I'm a Royal Highness and always will be. She has been raised to never forget that, even if she might want to.'_

"Good evening, Elizabeth." On reflection, Bertie knew that he should have used her title, just as she had his, but the thought vanished from his mind as her smile warmed even further. "Would you like to take a walk in the gardens?"

Elizabeth nodded her head, taking his proffered arm. "I would love to."

They walked, arm in arm, until the music from the ballroom was only a distant sound carried away by the breeze. Bertie relished this closeness, which would have been impossible under scrutiny in the ballroom, and had to fight not to pull her even closer, afraid of offended her.

Surprisingly enough, it was Elizabeth who moved closer, lighting leaning her head on his shoulder. Bertie fought not to gasp; such a gesture would have been too intimate for a husband and wife in public, let alone an unmarried man and women who were not even engaged.

"You're thinking about how improper this is." Elizabeth's sudden comment brought him from his reverie. It always surprised him how well she could read his thoughts, especially since they had known each other such a short time. "The thought crossed my mind as well, but I don't truly find I care. I've never cared much for propriety and my mother has many older daughters to teach and marry off before my turn comes around. For now, at least, I can enjoy my improprieties, before I have the training to know any better."

Bertie smiled. Having grown up with so many rules and regulations himself, it was Elizabeth's free nature that had attracted him to her originally. He was relieved to know that she had not changed in the time they had been apart.

"I've been trained on p-propriety since I was small." Bertie cursed his stammer as he spoke, for Elizabeth's expression had changed. He had stammered a few times in the woman's presence, but he did not think she had ever noticed it before. Well, now she had.

"You have a stammer?" she asked, as if it were not already clear. But her voice did not sound the same as others had done when asking the same question. Instead of scorn and contempt, he found only interest and sympathy. '_Another thing that makes her so very different.'_

"Yes." he answered tentatively and took a deep breath. His stammer was usually strongest when he spoke of it. "I've h-had it since I was qu-quite young. I- I can hardly re-remember a time w-without it."

"I find it rather endearing, to tell the truth." Elizabeth told him and Bertie could not help but smile at that. "But it must be so awful for you. When you've such scrutiny put on you by the public, when people make up falsehoods against you and there's nothing you can do to defend yourself."

"That's the curse of royalty, I suppose." Bertie commented light-heartedly. But Elizabeth did not appear light-hearted. In fact, she looked quite the opposite.

"It's not a curse I could ever bear. All the attention, the expectations, the lies. Everyone expecting you to be something that you're not. I could never stand to be royal. Most likely, I'd go mad."

Bertie's heart sunk so far that he could imagine it slipping from his shoe onto the ground. Elizabeth saw this and once again, sympathy was the emotion in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Bertie."

And then she was gone.

A/N: Please review!


	6. The Awful Truth

Chapter Six

A/N: Thank you to bellovettrix, mrseljefino and daydreaming87 for reviewing the last chapter.

A couple more balls had been held since the calamity of David's birthday celebration, but Bertie had not had the heart to invite Elizabeth to either of them. Her elder sister, Mary, had attended at his brother's invitation, but she had been accompanied only by one of her brothers; her youngest sister was nowhere in sight. '_It's likely for the best.'_ Bertie thought bitterly, cursing his own stupidity. '_Considering the disaster our last meeting became.'_

The prince had replayed the events of David's ball over and over again in his mind and each time he did so, he felt more and more foolish. Perhaps he was overreacting, perhaps things were not as bad as he remembered them- but then her words rang through his mind and his heart shattered all over again.

_I could never stand to be royal. I'm so sorry, Bertie._

'_She knew.'_ Bertie had realised, while he sat alone on the bench in the gardens, long after Elizabeth had left him. '_She knew what I wanted to ask her. That was why she apologised, because she knew she was breaking my heart. And yet she said it all the same.'_

Bertie shook his head, disappointed at his own reaction. It was wrong for him to expect her to marry him, simply because he had had the idea to ask her. If she did not want the royal life, then that was her decision to make, not his. Nonetheless, the man could not help but remember: '_It was the royal life she said she did not want. She never said she did not want me.'_

But that hardly mattered now. No mattered how often he had wished to do so, he could not rid himself of his royal blood, nor could he deny his birthright. He had been born to be a prince of Great Britain, and would be heir to his brother's throne until David had children of his own. The royal life was his past, present and future; he could not put that aside for one woman, however wonderful a woman she may be.

So, with a heavy heart, Bertie returned to the endless lists his mother had made, in search of a name that caught his eye in hope that she would be a more suitable choice for a bride. It was a futile attempt, for the only names that caught his eye were the ones that began with 'Elizabeth', on the off chance that they may be referring to her.

And so Bertie returned to his old self, allowing his mother to introduce him to any suitable young ladies and saying the bare minimum to them before wandering off to stand on his own again. It was as if he had never met Elizabeth, as if all those wonderful changes she had made to him had been just a dream.

The more he thought about it, the more Bertie pitied the woman he would eventually marry. The match between his parents had been arranged by their own and they held affection at the very most for each other. Now, yet another girl would be trapped into such a loveless match. '_Perhaps I might come to care for her in time.'_ he supposed. '_After all, she will be my wife and the mother of my children. But she'll never have my heart. That will always belong to another.'_

And it was not only he who would be wed to someone else. In time, Elizabeth would fall in love with another man, one who would not crush her with responsibility, but would only expect that she was a loyal wife and a caring mother. '_That's all she wants.'_ Bertie reminded himself, as if that would lessen the pain of knowing she could never have that with him.

When these parties and occasions were over and done with, Queen Mary finally resigned to the melancholy which had enveloped her younger son, Bertie spent the majority of time locked up in his bedroom, wishing not to be disturbed as he tried to decide which noblewoman could possibly take the place of his dear Elizabeth.

After days and weeks of trying, Bertie was close to despair over the matter. In all the lists of names and titles, he could not find any whom he might wish to make his bride. However, as a knock came at the door and he prepared to shoo the person away, he heard a footman call that there had been a letter for His Royal Highness.

The moment the door was open, Bertie saw the handwriting on the envelope and smiled; for one, it was addressed to 'Dear Bertie'. Bertie opened the letter with shaking hands.

_My dear Bertie,_  
_I am so very sorry if the comments I made offended you in any way. I only felt bound to point out that the royal life, the constant attention and the endless procedure, is not one that I could envision for myself. Once one becomes royal, I feel that one's life no longer belongs to oneself, but to the people. And I cannot bring myself to accept that burden, however much I may wish to._  
_I hope that you may find someone worthy of being your wife and I wish you all the happiness in the world for when you do._  
_With great love and affection,_  
_Elizabeth._

Bertie read the letter a dozen times over, ensuring that his eyes were not deceiving him. Yes, he had been right. It had been the royal life which she had not wanted, not him. Yet this letter was merely another painful reminder of how she could not have one without the other.

Then a thought struck him. He was only the second son. He would never be king and he would not even be heir presumptive for a great deal of time, God willing. Once he was married, he could retreat more into the background and live out his life in relative peace. And she could do that with him, could she not?

Bertie sat at his desk and put pen to paper, desperate to convince this wonderful woman of that fact before he lost her.

_Dearest Elizabeth..._

A/N: Please review!


	7. Questions and Lies

Chapter Seven

A/N: Thank you to bellovettrix, mrseljefino and daydreaming87 for reviewing the last chapter.

Letters had been exchanged, back and forth, back and forth, but at last, Elizabeth had consented to return to the palace. For all that she had reluctantly agreed, she had rather made it seem that she did not wish to see Bertie. This, of course, was not the truth.

The truth was that Elizabeth was very fond of Bertie; she grew fonder still every time they met. But this was what she was afraid of, and the reason why she had rejected so many invitations to dance and to dinner. She did not want to become any fonder of Bertie, for fear that she would be unable to let him go.

No matter what else he may be in private, to the public Albert was a prince. He was expected to always behave in the correct way, to be polite and charming and politically correct. Most of all, he was expected to marry a princess. '_The royal family have never given in to that issue.'_ she told herself, as she had done every day since she had first met the prince. '_A prince must wed a princess. Even the second son of a king cannot marry the youngest daughter of a Scottish earl.'_

After the end of the Great War, her mother, Cecelia, had made finding a husband for her youngest daughter her highest priority. She had a great deal more time to do so, she had said, having withdrawn now from public life. Elizabeth had tried to object, but found her pre-war excuse to be invalid; all her elder sisters were married now, and she was the only one left, bar two of her brothers, Michael and David.

The War had taken a great deal from her, including another brother, Fergus, whom she had loved dearly. He had used to call her 'little Lizzie' and twirl her round in his arms until she was giddy. There were times when, even six years later, she could not believe he was gone.

Elizabeth did not involve herself much in the choosing of her future husband, for she knew that she would never find one she truly loved. Instead, she contented herself to play with little Rosemary, Fergus' daughter, twirling the child around just as her father had once done.

The child had been laughing so loudly that Elizabeth did not hear her maid enter the room. When she finally noticed the poor girl, who had been hovering in the doorway with no idea whether to announce herself or not, her eyes were immediately drawn to the envelope she carried.

Within moments, Elizabeth had retrieved the letter from inside and settled down in a chair to read, Rosemary clambering onto her lap to join her.

_Dearest Elizabeth,_  
_I am writing to tell you that I understand your misgivings about royal life, for I often feel them myself. Had I not been born a royal prince, I certainly would not have wished this fate upon myself, even if I am only a second son and, God willing, never to be king. It is a grim responsibility to bear and I understand your wishing to avoid such public acclaim all to well._  
_I do, however, ask that we do not allow this to diminish our friendship. I have grown very fond of you, Elizabeth, and do not wish to lose you. You are one of the very few people I have met in my life who have treated me as a man and not simply as a prince. When I am with you, I feel that I can forego all expectations and just be myself._  
_I hope to speak to you soon,_  
_Yours sincerely,_  
_Albert._

Elizabeth leant back in her seat, breathing a deep sigh. She did not know if she was relieved to hear from Bertie or if it had simply made her heartache all the more painful. Either way, tears were beginning to well in her eyes.

Rosemary had noticed her aunt's distress and wound her arms gently around her neck, offering comfort in the only way a child knew how.

"Why are you crying, Aunt Lizzie?" she asked, her voice soft, as if she were trying to keep a secret. "Are you sad?"

"I'm not quite sure, darling." Elizabeth replied.

"Was it the letter?" The girl, inquisitive as she was, had eased the letter out of her aunt's hand and was holding it close up to her face, trying to decipher Bertie's elegant script.

"Yes, darling, it was the letter." Elizabeth nodded shallowly. Rosemary looked up at her, the expression on her face making it clear that she would not accept such a simple answer. "A young man wrote to me, asking if we might meet soon."

Rosemary smiled widely. "Is he your beau?"

"No, Rosemary." she answered, her voice a great deal flatter than she had intended it to be. "I do not have a beau, nor do I want one. This boy is a friend of mine, a dear friend. But he's nothing more than that."

"Does he want to be more than that?" It was odd to hear such an insightful question from the lips of a girl who was barely six years of age. Then again, she was extremely similar to her father- Fergus had always had an innate ability to ask her the questions she constantly asked herself.

"I'm not sure, darling." she responded, after a lengthy pause. She glanced down at the piece of paper, which Rosemary had laid down on the table in front of them once she had gotten tired of it. "Perhaps he does, but I doubt it very much. He's a son of the royal family; he'll marry a daughter of another royal family, just as princes have done for hundreds of years."

The lie slipped easily from her tongue, but her niece still remained unsatisfied. She flashed Elizabeth a knowing smile, so similar to her father's. "Do you want him to be more than that?"

"He is a prince, Rosemary." the woman told the girl, edging around the question. "It could never be."

"But would you want him to be your beau?" the child asked, her smile increasing tenfold as she realised the answer. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Of course not, darling."

That lie did not come as easily.

A/N: Please review!


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